


i thought i was eve (but i guess i'm the snake)

by karnsteins



Series: cause tramps like us, baby we were born to run [11]
Category: The Outsiders - All Media Types
Genre: Alpha Dallas Winston, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Beta Johnny Cade, Canon-Typical Violence, College Years for Ponyboy, M/M, Mafia!Dallas Winston, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Relationship Study, omega ponyboy curtis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-24 07:47:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30068979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/karnsteins/pseuds/karnsteins
Summary: johnny's stomach turns. he wants to ask:where did you learn? are you even going to lie about how you know how to do this? how many times have you done this? what else are you hiding?ponyboy's perspective of the last conversation with johnny inand so eden sank to grief. wherein there are lies and truths.
Relationships: Johnny Cade & Ponyboy Curtis, Ponyboy Curtis/Dallas Winston
Series: cause tramps like us, baby we were born to run [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1969333
Kudos: 10





	i thought i was eve (but i guess i'm the snake)

**Author's Note:**

> you really do need to read [_and so eden sank to grief_](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29872260) in order to understand this. it doesn't cover all the ground in that, but it does cover the very last scene.

for all of dallas' defiance and bravado, the cut is something that makes ponyboy worried as he takes a look at it. he pushes his glasses back up his nose to take a better look: it's a good three inches long. when he presses on it, dallas gasps in response — a good indicator it was shallow. "sure you ain't getting hurt just because you like me babying you?" despite the nervousness in his chest, he keeps his tone playful, trying to remind himself that his isn't the first or last time this has happened. 

"don't think what i like is for babies," dallas huffs out, grin sharp despite the scent of blood and how pale he looks. his hair is half plastered to his forehead from the sweat, yet he's all sharp awareness. ponyboy leans over then, hand cupping dallas' still bloody cheek. he kisses him, solid, steady. 

it's like it is normally between them when this happens. reassurances, banter. except this isn't like it normally is: this time johnny is in the house with them. johnny had been with ponyboy on the front step when dallas had come in like this, and he was in the kitchen now, looking for the medical kit. 

the normal level of nervousness that ponyboy feels is more than usual. it had taken time to get used to it, to stop feeling jittery. he'd mostly conquered it, but it was back in full force now.

dallas kisses him back; just as he promised, he does have bite just for ponyboy. when ponyboy pulls back, his voice is quieter, scraping the bottom of his register, "should probably call two for johnny. i ain't hurting too much and two ain't that far away." 

"i'll ask," ponyboy's thumb runs on his cheek, the skin a little warm to the touch. "don't fall asleep. let me know if—" 

"i know, i know," dallas grimaces, shifts and ponyboy feels a fluttering in his chest. he helps getting the shirt off, folding the jacket carefully, placing it on the end of the couch. 

he hears johnny in the kitchen as he goes. the medical kit was easy to find, he hoped. "soon as johnny gets here, i'll pack it, get the needle, okay?" 

"yeah, yeah," dallas grimaces again. ponyboy looks down, eyeing the cut again, trying to gauge it again. maybe they'd still need to reach out — not to one of nunes' guys, though. dallas had a point about the woman he had. she was one of those people nunes had roped in, who still wasn't used to this. her hands shook bad and usually, even if dallas limped in okay, ponyboy found himself having to redo her work anyway. she was just good for a quick patch job, not something secure. andrew could come if was truly bad. 

he hears the scrape of feet: then johnny comes in, gripping the medical kit, eyes wide on them. his hands are tight on the medical kit, the tips almost white from the effort.

ponyboy feels relief seeing him, reaching out for the kit, trying not to think too hard about how hard his grip is on the kit. "thanks, johnny. i can get him. you want me to call two?" he takes it, his own hands steady, used to the weight. "don't think you'll wanna stick around for this. looks like someone jumped him real good." 

he's always been a good liar. he's had to lie to people before — a white lie to his mother to cover for soda, a lie to darry so that he wouldn't get into trouble, a lie to steve just to make him mad. lying's always been easy, he thinks, because of his imagination. lying out of necessity was just how you got through life, sometimes. 

it's different, to lie to johnny's face like this. to have it roll out so easy, like he was talking to one of his classmates instead of a boy he's known his entire life, a boy who he ran away with as a teen because of a dead boy, a boy who he's always thought he'd never have to lie so blatantly to like this. 

he wasn't stupid, though. and even if ponyboy doesn't like it, this wasn't a pack issue. johnny was pack. dallas was _his mate_ , had been since he was fourteen years old. johnny wasn't. 

and furthermore, ponyboy had known since he was sixteen what was going on here in specific. he may not have known all the details, he may not know what was going on day to day, but he'd seen the bruises, the cuts, had found the coffee can bursting with money. he'd listened to dallas talk about what he had to do, and he had accepted it. they were mates, and just as dallas had accepted that ponyboy would leave tulsa, that he'd pursue a life in academics, in what was looking more and more like a librarian, ponyboy had accepted that dallas would sometimes be stained with blood, that he'd have to learn how to stitch up a side, how to lie to the police, how to ignore the money that came in and out. he hadn't wanted to change dallas anymore than dallas had wanted to change him.

one day, he knew that he'd have to lie to someone in the pack of this in a way that was blatant, heavy, that wasn't the same as a little white lie over the phone or an omission of the truth.

it's just that ponyboy thought that lying to johnny, with dallas' blood on his hands, would be harder. that he might feel guilty instead of calm. 

"i can call him," johnny says, voice quiet. 

"okay, phone's in the kitchen," usually, the phone outside was the only option. but he thinks it should be safe for one call from johnny. ponyboy watches him walk inside, and works quick. it's routine now, staunching the wound better. he murmurs to dallas that he'll be okay, and once dallas squeezes his hand, ponyboy feels better. 

from there, he goes into the kitchen, the familiar routine. pot, water, needle. sterilizing it all, grabbing the whisky and keeping half an eye on johnny. dallas accepts the whisky with a murmur, taking a swig of it before splashing some on the cut, hissing as he goes. johnny's eyes dart nervously, mouth worrying at his nails, like they had in the church. 

he wants to reassure him, but nothing seems exactly correct to offer, no words come to him that would feel anything like more lies, stretched too thin. his mind is on what he can do, keeping an eye on dallas as the water boils. two bit's truck drives up right as the water hits a boil. he shakes johnny's shoulder and johnny jumps a little at the tough eyes so big in his face that it's almost comical. "sorry, johnny. two's here. sorry about… all of this." ponyboy tries to keep his tone apologetic, quiet. as if this didn't happen every few months, as if he wasn't getting so good at this that he could do it in his sleep.

"how'd you figure out how to fix him up?" johnny's eyes flick towards the living room as he asks, standing up on his own. 

of all questions he thought johnny could ask at this point, there's a real relief in ponyboy that he won't have to lie with this one. "had a school friend show me. he's a nursing student — wasn't too hard." he shrugs, thinking about how many times andrew had to come over until pony had learned. how the first time he'd gotten andrew over here, he'd blanched, but abided by the rule: no questions. he glances behind johnny, out to where two bit idles. "you gonna be—" 

"yeah, yeah," johnny turns, makes his way down the steps on his own, raising his hand as he reaches the truck. "i'll see you, ponyboy!"

he gives a wave back. the words stick in his throat: that he's sorry dal couldn't talk to him, in the state he was in, that he hoped johnny would be fine. more words he could say — words that were ultimately more for comfort rather than reality. there's a pang in ponyboy to realize for the first time in a long time, how much that johnny doesn't know about them. and how he doesn't feel so guilty that johnny doesn't know; that isn't not for johnny _to_ know.

as soon as they're gone, ponyboy turns his attention where it needs to be. he shoves his glasses up on his nose, shuts the door. the night is spent crouched down, hands steady as he stitches up dallas' cut. it's truly not that bad; by the time he's done, dallas has relaxed into the couch, fingers running through his hair. the smell of whisky and blood is strong, but not overwhelming. the sun has long sunk under the horizon, and ponyboy's hands are scrubbed clean of the blood. he takes his glasses off, throws his shirt into the hamper and makes his way back to dallas. a cool breeze comes in through the windows, and he tells himself that things are fine. there have been much worse nights.

ponyboy runs a rag beneath the water, realizes how late it is. cursing, he goes to turn on the oven. once it's done, he gets the rag, wrings it out, makes his way back into the living room where dallas is still situated. 

"told you we didn't have to go to nunes," dallas huffs out as ponyboy applies the rag, wiping up the last sweat from his forehead. he gives one more check: the stitches on his side are neat, there's more color to his cheeks when dallas grins up at ponyboy. there's only a little bit of blood on his jeans, some of it still on his check.

"you're just saying that because you don't have to pay me with cash," ponyboy grumbles, knowing that's furthest from the truth. dallas chuckles as he finishes up, shrugging. "we can talk about that later. i'll get dinner." 

dallas grasps his hand, and ponyboy's eyes look at the mating mark on dallas' shoulder. it's not as vivid as it had been that morning, after he'd sank his teeth in. he wants to reaffirm it later, when they can. he squeezes dallas' hand back, let's go and makes his way back to the kitchen.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks so much for reading this! please comment, kudos, come holler at me on tumblr @madeleinepryor i really love every conversation and piece of feedback. i thought i was done with the initial piece... but i had to flip to pony.


End file.
